


Win, Lose, or Draw

by trixietru



Category: Psych
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixietru/pseuds/trixietru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lassiter is very competitive, but Shawn plays to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Win, Lose, or Draw

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is fluffy fluff fluff. Takes place in some AU wonderland around the end of S3 or the beginning of S4.

Gus isn’t sure how the whole thing got started; he only knows that when he arrives at the station, Shawn is making plans to have Lassiter, Buzz, and Officer Mendez over to the Psych office for a game of poker.  
  
“Have you lost your damn mind?” he demands, after dragging Shawn away from the others. “You can’t play poker with them!”  
  
“Why not? It’s a time honored tradition for manly bonding. Besides, we should get to know Mendez better. He’s new and I don’t think he has any friends in the area.”  
  
Gus ignores this attempt to distract him. “For starters, your dad will kill you if he finds out that you’re taking money from the guys at the station.“  
  
“I wouldn’t be _taking_ money, Gus,” Shawn says patiently. “I would be winning it.”  
  
“Of course,” Gus continues, pretending that he hasn’t been interrupted, “your dad might not get a chance to kill you if Lassiter gets his hands on you first.”  
  
A dreamy look crosses Shawn’s face. “If only,” he sighs, then shakes his head and grins reassuringly at Gus. “It’ll be fine! It’s all in good fun. Anyway, this was all Lassie’s idea. I beat him at a game of chess in the breakroom and he wants to try and beat me at something else. He’s very competitive you know.”  
  
“Problem, Guster?” Lassiter asks from his desk a few feet away. Gus hopes that they’re far enough away that the detective hasn’t been able to overhear any of their conversation.  
  
“No problem,” he says smoothly.  
  
“You’re going to play too, right Gus?” Buzz asks hopefully.  
  
“Uh, NO. I don’t play poker against Shawn, and none of you should either. He’s psychic, remember?”  
  
Lassiter coughs something that sounds a lot like “Bullshit.” Buzz looks vaguely worried, but Shawn pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.  
  
“Don’t worry, Buzz. The spirits don’t concern themselves with anything as minor as a poker game.” He claps his hands and looks at the others. “So, eight o’clock tonight, right guys? BYOB. Also, BYO snacks. Gus hasn’t gone grocery shopping for the office lately, and I think we’re down to the last few lonely Twizzlers.”  
  
“You ate those yesterday,” Gus reminds him. “Also, it’s not my job to buy snacks for the office.”  
  
“Then whose job is it?” Shawn wonders. “It can’t be mine, I’m too busy being head psychic.”  
  
They head for the exit happily squabbling about which of them should be Chief Executive Officer in Charge of Snack Purchases, but Gus can’t shake the fact that he has a bad feeling about this.  
  
When Gus pulls into his parking space at the Psych office at ten o’clock that night, he’s surprised to see Juliet there as well, just getting out of her car.  
  
“Juliet, what are you doing here?”  
  
She holds up a file folder. “I have some reports that I need Lassiter to review. I overheard the guys talking about the game tonight, so I thought I would go ahead and drop them off so he wouldn’t have to come into the station on his day off tomorrow. What are you doing out here? Aren’t you playing poker with them?”  
  
“Nah, I learned a long time ago not to play poker with Shawn. I came down to make sure that he hasn’t incited Lassiter into bloodshed. I don’t want to have to pay to have the carpets cleaned,” Gus says as he opens the door for Juliet, letting her go in first, which is how he’s alerted to the fact that something is wrong by the way she gasps and freezes in the doorway. Gus looks over her shoulder to see what stopped her, then quickly looks away.  
  
“Shawn! How many times have I told you that naked men are not allowed in our office!”  
  
“Gus, don’t be a droopy sock. Nobody’s naked. Yet.”  
  
Reluctantly, Gus enters the room. Technically, Shawn is right: no one is actually naked. But Buzz and Officer Mendez are both only clad in their underwear. Lassiter’s shoes, socks, tie, and jacket are stacked neatly beside him. Shawn, of course, is fully clothed.  
  
“Strip poker, guys? Really?” Juliet asks, trying to look anywhere but at her half-naked co-workers.  
  
“It’s Gus’s fault,” Shawn says, and Gus is about to protest that he in no way suggested that this happen, when Shawn continues “he’s the one who said it might be wrong for me to play for money when I have an unfair psychic advantage. I’ve done everything I can to dampen my psychic receptors for the night, but I decided strip poker was a safer way to play.”  
  
“Carlton, you agreed to that?” Juliet asks, aghast.  
  
“He’s not psychic!” Lassiter snaps. “I don’t know how he keeps winning.” He glares at Shawn accusingly “He’s cheating somehow.”  
  
Shawn gasps in mock offense. “I am not cheating!” Which is probably true, Gus thinks. Shawn can and will count cards to win when he wants to, but he prefers to win by reading the tells of the other players. Buzz, with his honest, sincere features would be like an open book to Shawn, and from his lack of clothing, Gus suspects that Mendez must be similarly easy to read. The fact that Lassiter still retains most of his clothes means that he probably has a pretty decent poker face, or at least the ability to know when to fold. Unfortunately for him, Shawn has spent the last few years studying every variation of his facial expressions and body language, and from the glee on Shawn’s face right now, it appears all his years of study have finally paid off.  
  
“Jules!” Shawn crows in delight. “What a nice surprise! And you’re just in time, too. Lassie just lost his shirt.”  
  
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Lassiter mutters, and starts pulling at the buttons of his shirt.  
  
Juliet puts a hand to her mouth to muffle a laugh. “Carlton, I’m sure you don’t have to -"  
  
“Oh yes he does!” Shawn says quickly. “Sorry, those are the rules. Take it off, Lassie.”  
  
Gus sees the way that Shawn is practically salivating in anticipation, his eyes narrowed as he no doubt memorizes everything about this moment, and sighs in disgust. Shawn is going to ruin everything with his stupid crush on Lassiter.  
  
Less expected than Shawn’s idiocy is the little intake of breath from beside him. Juliet’s cheeks are pink and she seems to be trying to simultaneously avert her eyes while furtively peeking at her partner. Gus glances over at Lassiter and mentally shrugs; he’s nicely shaped – for a guy – but too pale, in Gus’s opinion. Shawn and Juliet though, don’t seem to share his reservations. After a moment of stunned silence (no one really believed Lassiter would start stripping), Juliet darts over to the table and stands behind Lassiter, her hand hovering for a moment uncertainly over his shoulder, like she’s daring herself to touch him.  
  
“I brought you the Rafferty files to look over,” she says in a rush, dropping the folder on the table beside him. “I have to go now! Bye!”  
  
She backs out of the room, her eyes pinned to Lassiter’s chest, causing her to bump into the doorframe on the way out, then turns and flees.  
  
“What got into her?” Lassiter grumbles. Shawn catches Gus’s eye and grins.  
  
“I hope she’s okay,” Buzz says. “She looked a little flushed.”  
  
“I’m sure Jules is fine,” Shawn says. “She just had an epiphany.”  
  
“Well I hope she feels better soon,” Buzz says worriedly.  
  
“Are we playing another hand or what, guys? I think my luck’s about to turn.” Mendez says.  
  
“I’m up for it if you guys are,” Shawn says brightly.  
  
Gus takes in the fact that Mendez and Buzz are both one hand away from complete nudity and decides that he’s done his duty in checking in on his best friend and business partner, and that now it’s time for him to go. Lassiter seems to have come to a similar conclusion.  
  
“I’m out,” he says “I don’t know how you’re doing it Spencer, but I’m not going to play patsy for you anymore tonight.”  
  
“Awww, don’t be like that Lassie! Is it because things are awkward now that everyone’s showing skin except me? Look, I’ll even things up!” Shawn says, and pulls his shirt off, tossing it into the corner.  
  
Lassiter’s eyes widen as he takes in Shawn’s bare chest, and then he hastily looks away. Interesting, Gus thinks. Maybe Shawn isn’t as far off the mark where Lassiter is concerned as Gus had assumed he was.  
  
“Spencer, why do you have to be so…so…” Lassiter seems to be at a loss for words, and he’s trying to look anywhere in the room but at Shawn, but not succeeding; his eyes keep skipping back to the other man.  
  
“So brilliant? So sexy? Such an impossible, unlikely combination of brilliant and sexy?” Shawn supplies hopefully.  
  
“Such an ass,” Lassiter finishes.  
  
“If you wanna see my ass, Lassie, you’re going to have to stick around and win a few more games.”  
  
“And on that note,” Lassiter says, pulling his shirt back on, “I’m leaving.”  
  
Shawn steps closer to him and Gus raises his eyebrows as he sees Lassiter lick his lips. “So you admit defeat?” Shawn asks.  
  
“I admit that you’re a skilled cheater.”  
  
Shawn actually looks a little mad now. “I told you Lassie, I’m not cheating. But if you don’t want to concede defeat, we can change the game. Pick something else for us to compete at. Anything you want. Pick something you’re the best at, something where I couldn’t possibly cheat.”  
  
Lassiter holds his gaze for a long moment before saying. “Fine. Meet me at the shooting range tomorrow at two o’clock.”  
  
Shawn grins. Somehow, he’s gotten close enough that he and Lassiter are practically nose-to-nose. “Oh, I’ll be there. You should probably start practicing your gracious loser speech tonight.”  
  
“And you should practice your shooting. Have you ever even fired a gun?”  
  
“I’ve played a lot of Halo. That counts, right?”  
  
Gus groans. Trust Lassiter to choose the one thing Shawn might be even better at than poker. If Lassie weren’t so busy engaging in some weird eyefucking thing with Shawn right now, Gus might try to warn him off, but as it is, all he can do is resolve to be there tomorrow to make sure that Shawn doesn’t get himself shot.  
  
***  
Lassiter is at the range early the next day to get in a few practice rounds before Spencer arrives. Last night had been…weird, for lack of a better word. Uncomfortable. He had been certain Spencer was cheating somehow, because there was no other explanation for his phenomenal winning streak, but he was equally certain that Shawn had been both telling the truth about not cheating and pissed off at the accusation. Maybe, he thinks, Spencer really is just an amazing poker player. Lassiter had always thought that he himself was pretty good – he had paid for a number of his textbooks in college with winnings from poker games with the guys in his dorm – but maybe Spencer is better. It’s true that he has always possessed an uncanny ability to read people accurately, a skill that would certainly make for a formidable poker player. He can accept that, albeit grudgingly.  
  
Losing the chess game that had started this whole thing had been more surprising, honestly. Who knew that Spencer had the concentration and focus necessary to win a game of chess?  
  
Today though, he’s confident that he’s going to come out on top.  
  
That thought conjures up an image so explicit that Lassiter can feel himself blushing, and he mentally amends his words. He’s going to _win_. Yes.  
  
Really, why did Spencer have to take his shirt off last night? What was he trying to prove? Or, well, knowing Spencer he wasn’t trying to prove anything, he was just being his typical outrageous self. Like when he suggested strip poker in the first place, and Lassiter had somehow found himself agreeing, because he thought he could win. He was an adult, for Christ’s sake, what was he doing agreeing to strip poker like some sort of dumb teenager? And now he needs to do something nice for O’Hara, because she had clearly been made embarrassed and self-conscious by the situation she walked into.  
  
If only Spencer weren’t so damn cocky.  
  
No, that was also a poor choice of words, he thinks, as another unfortunately graphic thought assaults him. Arrogant. If only Spencer weren’t so damn arrogant, Lassiter wouldn’t feel the need to one-up him all the time. And if only he weren’t so…what was it Spencer had said teasingly last night? Brilliant and sexy? Yeah, if only he weren’t so _that_ , then maybe Lassiter could stop being plagued by fantasies of things that are never going to happen.  
  
He pushes the button to bring his most recent target in and examines it in satisfaction. He’s an excellent shot, and he’s never so much as seen Spencer pick up a gun, not that he should because he would probably end up shooting himself in the foot. In fact, Lassiter should probably keep a close eye on him today, because Chief Vick will kill him if he allows Spencer to accidentally shoot himself.  
  
He pulls out his earplugs and is checking his watch when he hears the doors open and close and Shawn’s voice.  
  
“I’ll be fine, Gus. Lassie would never shoot me. Stop being such a worrywart.”  
  
“Whatever, Shawn. It’s your funeral. He’s going to be pissed when he realizes that you -"  
  
Spencer interrupts Guster before he can finish his thought, catching sight of Lassiter and breaking out into a wide grin. “Lassie! Getting some practice in? I don’t blame you, if I were you, I’d be worried too.”  
  
“The only thing I’m worried about is that you’ll manage to shoot yourself and I’ll somehow get blamed for it.”  
  
“Awww, it’s sweet of you to be so concerned for my safety! Isn’t that sweet, Gus?”  
  
“I’m leaving now, Shawn. Call me if you need a ride home.”  
  
Lassiter looks at him in surprise. “You’re not staying?”  
  
“Shawn says I distract him,” Gus explains, as Shawn goes to pick out earplugs and safety glasses.  
  
Lassiter’s eyes are on Shawn even as he talks to Gus. “He’s not going to do anything stupid, is he?” he asks, picturing Spencer attempting some sort of fancy gun-twirling trick that he’s seen in movies.  
  
“Not the way you’re thinking,” Gus sighs. “Look, you need to remember that Shawn is Henry Spencer’s son.”  
  
Lassiter turns his attention to Gus, a cold feeling starting in the pit of his stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, but Spencer interrupts before Guster can say anything else.  
  
“No giving away the surprise, Gus. I’ll call you later.” It’s a clear dismissal, and Gus gives Shawn an annoyed look as he turns and leaves.  
  
“Alone at last,” Spencer says cheerfully as the door closes behind Gus, and Lassiter twitches, wondering if Shawn is aware of just how much Lassiter daydreams of getting him alone. No, not possible. Spencer would never think of Lassiter like that.  
  
“How do you want to do this?” Lassiter asks, trying to ignore the way Spencer is sidling up next to him. “Do you want to go first, or…?”  
  
“Nah, I’m a gentleman. I prefer to come second. Show me what you’ve got, Lassie.”  
  
Why, Lassiter wonders, does every word out of Spencer’s mouth have to sound like some sort of sexual innuendo? Is he doing it on purpose, or is Lassiter’s overheated imagination making him hear things that aren’t actually there?  
  
It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. What’s important right now is that he wins. He raises his gun, lines up his shot and fires, putting six bullets into the target. Shawn brings the target in and looks at it admiringly.  
  
“Nice, Lassie. Tight groupings, perfect head shots. I want you with me when the zombie apocalypse comes.”  
  
Lassiter is struck both by the genuineness in his voice and by the fact that he even knows what a tight grouping looks like. “Thanks,” he says a little awkwardly, because he knows how to handle Spencer’s snarkiness, but not his sincerity. “It needs a new cartridge before you shoot. Do you want me to -"  
  
“I can do it,” Shawn says casually, taking the gun from his hand and reaching for the box of cartridges.  
  
“Spencer, if you damage my gun, I will retaliate by shooting you,” Lassiter warns, suddenly nervous at the sight of his precious Glock in the hands of a man who regularly flails around in ridiculous contortions.  
  
Shawn smiles slightly. “Understood,” he says, ejecting the empty cartridge and inserting a new one with unexpected proficiency. Lassiter is torn between the all-too-familiar sinking sensation of knowing that Spencer is yet again about to show him up somehow and an alarming surge of arousal at the surprising amount of competence Shawn is showing.  
  
Shawn points the gun and shoots. Six shots, fast. Too fast, in Lassiter’s opinion; Spencer couldn’t possibly have taken any sort of careful aim, he thinks. But when he brings the target in, he can see how the six holes line up to make a perfect X over the heart of the paper target man.  
  
“X marks the spot,” Shawn says softly from over his shoulder, and when did he get so close?  
  
“Where did you learn how to shoot like that?” Lassiter asks, turning around. Shawn doesn’t move, standing so close that Lassiter can feel the heat coming off of him.  
  
“Lassie, I practically grew up at the shooting range. I could shoot a gun before I could drive, before I could shave,” his gaze drops to Lassiter’s mouth. “Before my first kiss.”  
  
Whoa. Lassiter tries to take a step back, but he’s already up against the wall. Shawn has set the gun down on the counter, taken off the dorky safety glasses and earplugs, and now he’s looking up at Lassiter intently.  
  
“Spencer, what the hell are you doing?” He’s a little embarrassed by how breathless he sounds, but seriously, what’s going on here?  
  
“You’re the detective,” Shawn says, reaching out to take hold of Lassiter’s collar. “You figure it out.”  
  
Lassiter’s heart is thudding so loud in his chest he thinks that Shawn can probably hear it, and he feels weak-kneed and giddy. This has to be some sort of continuation of the games they’ve been playing, doesn’t it? Spencer has figured out that Lassiter is attracted to him and is using it to prove that he’s not only the better chess player and poker player and marksman, but that he owns Lassiter in every conceivable way.  
  
“No.” Lassiter reaches up and gently pushes Shawn away, even though every instinct he has is screaming at him to do the opposite and pull him closer. “I’m not playing this game with you.”  
  
Shawn blinks, looking stunned. “Lassie, this isn’t -"  
  
“No,” Lassiter says again, picking up his gun and walking away before Spencer can say anything else.  
  
***  
  
Shawn spends a lot of time thinking over the course of the next week. Well, as much time as he can while also solving a case alongside Lassie, Jules, and Gus, and attempting to dodge Henry’s attempts to have him come over and assist in painting the house. Despite the fact that they’re working on the same case, Lassiter spends most of the week trying to avoid him as much as possible, and when they are forced to be together, he’s even more awkward and short-tempered than normal.  
  
Shawn knows that he screwed up somehow with his attempt to woo Lassiter through competition. Lassie wants him, that much he knows for certain. Even Gus, not the biggest fan of his crush on the detective, agreed that Lassie had been checking him out during the poker game, and Shawn would swear that he had been turned on by seeing Shawn’s prowess with a gun. That little play date should have ended with a hot and heavy make-out session at the gun range, but Lassiter had run out, leaving Shawn frustrated and confused.  
  
Somehow, he has to find a way to convince Lassiter that whatever it is that’s between them, it’s not a game to Shawn, and in order to do that, he’s going to have to find a way to be with Lassie again in a casual setting, something that won’t scare him off.  
  
Which is how Shawn ends up suggesting to Jules that they all go out to celebrate solving the case they’ve been working on, telling her that she needs to be the one to invite Lassiter along, because he’ll just ignore an invitation from Shawn. Jules agrees, because she’s always trying to get Lassiter out of his shell, even if she’s spent the week having a hard time making eye contact with her partner and blushing a lot more than usual when he looks her way. Poor Jules, Shawn thinks fondly. Her newfound little crush on Lassiter is cute, but doomed to failure, because Shawn has dibs.  
  
Shawn is certain that Lassie will accept an invitation from Jules because he clearly thinks that her self-consciousness around him is due to the fact that she was embarrassed or upset by what she saw during the strip poker game, and as a result he’s been trying all week to be extra-nice to her. Shawn does wonder how Lassiter has rationalized to himself that Jules apparently has had no difficulty interacting with Buzz or Mendez during the week, but chalks it up to the fact that for all his apparent ego, Lassiter has terrible self-esteem.  
  
They all end up at Tom Blair’s Pub, with Lassiter sitting as far away from Shawn as he can manage in the booth the four of them are squeezed into, and Jules petting at Lassie’s bicep after she’s had a couple of margaritas and lost some of her inhibitions, and Shawn trying to figure out how he can fix things and end the night in Lassie’s bed. Or if that’s too presumptuous, then how he can at least get to second base.  
  
It’s Gus who comes to his rescue, because, Shawn thinks fondly, Gus is an awesome wingman.  
  
“Detective Lassiter, would you like to play a game of pool? I won't play with Shawn anymore since the Pool Cue Incident of ’05, and I used to enjoy the game.”  
  
Lassiter looks down nervously at Juliet’s hand on his arm and hastily stands up. “Sure, Guster. It looks like the first table is free.”  
  
As they walk away, Juliet sighs and Shawn gives her a sympathetic smile. “It would never work out, Jules. You’re partners, you’d kill each other if you got involved on a personal level.”  
  
She gives him a haughty look. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but then she deflates a little. “You really don’t think it would work?”  
  
“Jules, would you really want it too? Think about it for a second. He’s a gun nut, he’s got that weird obsession with squirrels, he’s cranky all the time, he…” Shawn trails off as he’s distracted by the sight of Lassiter bending over the pool table to line up his shot.  
  
Juliet follows his line of sight to see what’s caught his attention, and gasps when she realizes that he’s staring at Lassiter’s ass.  
  
“Shawn! Are you…are you _checking Lassiter out_?” she asks, shocked.  
  
Shawn tilts his head a little to get a better view. “Yes I am, Jules, and don’t sound so surprised. It’s not like you haven’t been doing the same thing all week.”  
  
“But you’re…I mean, I thought…he’s a guy!”  
  
“I had noticed,” Shawn says with a grin. “Let’s just say that when it comes to sex, I’m an equal opportunity employer.”  
  
Juliet lays a hand on his arm and he stops Lassie-gazing long enough to look over at her. “Shawn, you should be careful. Carlton is a good guy, but he might not be flattered -"  
  
Shawn pats her hand soothingly. “Don’t worry, Jules. Lassie appreciates diversity just as much as I do. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says, standing up, “Gus has set the table for me, and it’s time for me to pocket the balls.”  
  
He pauses, then turns back to her. “I’m sorry. That didn’t sound as dirty in my head as it did out loud.”  
  
She just waves a hand at him. “Go ahead. This I have to see.”  
  
“Why Jules! I should have known that you liked to watch.” He winks at her, appreciating the pretty blush that stains her cheeks, then saunters away.  
  
“Gus, I knew Lassie would beat you. You suck at this game.”  
  
“*I* suck? You almost killed me last time we played!”  
  
“Please. At worst, you _might_ have lost an eye. And even that was highly debatable, and if it had happened then you would get to wear an eyepatch, and you could have lived out your pirate fantasies.”  
  
“I’m not the one that has pirate fantasies, Shawn. That’s you.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Right. You’re saying you don’t find the thought of being tied to the mast with all those shirtless guys around hot?”  
  
“Only in your fantasies are the pirates always shirtless, Shawn. Also, pirates were often riddled with diseases like scurvy, hepatitis, scabies, and all kinds of venereal diseases. So think about that next time you’re having a pirate fantasy.”  
  
“I’d really rather not,” Shawn says, appalled.  
  
“I need another drink,” Gus says, handing his pool cue to Shawn. “Try not to maim anybody.”  
  
He walks to the bar, and Shawn looks over at Lassiter. “He’s lying, you know. He totally has pirate fantasies. They just involve Keira Knightley instead of Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom.” He sidles a little closer. “What about you, Lassie? Who’s in your pirate fantasies?”  
  
“Pirates are criminals,” Lassiter says stiffly. “I don’t fantasize about outlaws and deviants the way you do, Spencer.”  
  
Shawn leans over the table and racks the balls. “Ooooh, so what do you fantasize about?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. Just as he suspected, he’s not the only one who can’t resist staring at a nice ass when it’s bent over a pool table.  
  
Lassiter wrenches his gaze away and says “I’m leaving. Don’t let O’Hara or Guster drive, they’ve both had too much to drink.”  
  
Shawn steps in front of him, barring his path to the door. “You’re staying, for one more game. So that I can convince you that I’m not playing games.”  
  
“That makes even less sense than you normally do. Get out of my way.”  
  
“No. Not until you agree to one more game. What are you afraid of, Lassie? What have you got to lose?”  
  
Lassiter sighs, looking defeated before they’ve even started playing. Shawn frowns, because that’s not what he wants; in his mind, they should both come out as winners.  
  
“Haven’t you humiliated me enough?” he asks quietly, and Shawn is shocked down to his toes.  
  
“What are you talking about? The way I remember it, I had Buzz and Mendez stripped down to their shorts before I could even get your shirt off when we played poker.”  
  
Lassiter rolls his eyes. “Great, I beat McNab in a game of skill. I feel much better now.”  
  
Shawn just shrugs. “Ask Gus. You should be proud. Most people don’t last that long in a game of poker with me. You know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.” He’s moving around the table now, lining up shots and pocketing balls. Lassiter is watching and listening, even though he still looks like he wants to flee.  
  
“And then, the shooting range,” he continues, “was, if anything, a draw. Actually, if we were being scored, you would have won because you made all those head shots. Your technique is flawless. The only reason you felt like it was a loss is because you were surprised that I could shoot at all.”  
  
“That’s true,” Lassiter admits, sounding a little less depressed.  
  
“Damn it,” Shawn says, as he misses a shot. He steps aside so that Lassiter can have the table.  
  
“As for the chess game, I’ve been beating my dad at chess since I was nine years old. I’m like an idiot servant when it comes to chess.”  
  
Lassiter looks up from the pool table and blinks at him, clearly trying not to laugh. “You mean an idiot savant.”  
  
“I’ve heard it both ways. But pool,” he says, gesturing towards the table, “I’m not that great at pool. I didn’t learn it as a kid the way I did chess and poker and shooting.”  
  
Lassiter finishes clearing the table and comes over to stand beside Shawn, looking him in the eye as he says “I don’t mind losing in a fair game, Spencer. But I don’t like being played with.”  
  
Shawn abruptly grabs his arm and pulls him across the room to the door. He catches a glimpse of Gus and Juliet still at their table, Gus looking worried but resigned and Jules with a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with astonishment and a delighted expression on her face.  
  
“What the hell are you doing? Where are we going, Spencer?”  
  
“Have you ever thought about what a filthy game pool is?” Shawn asks as he pulls Lassiter along. “Holes and poles and balls and racks…”  
  
“It’s a pool cue, not a pole,” Lassiter points out, “and I’m still holding mine because you didn’t give me a chance to put it away.”  
  
They’re outside now, and Shawn tugs him around the corner of the building, looking around to ensure that they’re alone.  
  
“I’m done being subtle,” he says.  
  
Lassiter frowns at him. “You’ve never been subtle a day in your life. Do you even know the definition of subtle?”  
  
“Yeah. It means getting frustrated by a thickheaded detective who refuses to see what’s right in front of him.”  
  
“That’s not what it—” Lassiter is interrupted by Shawn’s lips pressed against his. He drops the pool cue and grabs Shawn’s shirt, and for a terrifying moment Shawn isn’t sure if he’s going to get pulled closer or pushed away, but then Lassie’s other hand is in his hair and he’s deepening the kiss, and it’s _awesome_ , just like Shawn always knew it would be.  
  
After a few minutes, Lassiter staggers back a step, looking simultaneously horrified and thrilled. Shawn follows him, stroking a hand across his chest.  
  
“I’m not playing, Lassie. This isn’t a game to me.”  
  
“How can I trust that?” Lassiter asks, rubbing his hand across his face. “You treat everything like a game.”  
  
“I like to have fun,” Shawn acknowledges, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t take anything seriously. This, for example,” he says, and  
kisses Lassiter again, slow and hot, pulling away only long enough to say “this I take very seriously.”  
  
After a minute, Lassiter’s arms are around him and he’s kissing him back, his hands sliding up and down Shawn’s back, until one hand finally lands on his ass and Shawn grins to himself and thinks “Score!”  
  
“Now that we have that settled,” Shawn says as they break apart, and if his voice is shaking a little then surely Lassie is too gentlemanly to point it out, “What do you say we go back to your place and play a game of Twister?”  
  
“Spencer!”  
  
“You’re right, too complicated. Wanna play doctor?”  
  
“Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?”  
  
“I know! We can play stern cop and naughty criminal.” He stretches up a little to whisper in Lassiter’s ear “I’ll be the stern cop.”  
  
Lassiter looks unwillingly intrigued. “…Maybe.”  
  
Shawn grins in triumph, secure in the knowledge that this is the best prize he’s ever won.


End file.
